Sins of the Father
by L.A. Mason
Summary: Weiss Side B


_**Sins of the Father**_

_A Weiss Kreuz Side B fanfic by L.A. Mason._

_Standard disclaimer applies: No copyright infringement intended. No profit being made or sought._

_There's a bee by that flower…_ Kurumi thought drowsily, blinking as she smothered another yawn. She supposed, on some level that she ought to have sympathy for the little yellow and black insect; its situation was remarkably like hers, trapped in an endless, lazy orbit around the young men of her impromptu family. And, just as the bee was drawn to Aya's impeccable ikebana of pale lavender orchid against the gnarled gray-green of a branch of very English yew, so too was she drawn to the handsome man and the unspoken-of mystery of his odd mix of skills.

When she'd finally gotten up the courage to ask the self-contained man about it, he'd said simply that his sensei had taught both sword and arranging, and that it had been a long time ago. That had made Kurumi's eyes widen in confusion – because silent, courteous Aya couldn't possibly be old enough for 'a long time ago.' When she'd hesitantly given voice to that thought, he'd shared one of his fleeting smiles and replied, "I was a child, then," and walked away, the graceful sway of hips and erect back wringing a quiet sigh from the young woman; she'd never have half of the red haired man's self-assurance, she just knew it.

Wearying of its futile courtship, the bee abruptly zoomed off toward the flower shop's open front door, and the young woman watched it go sadly. It did no good to be envious of its freedom, because in its own way, the insect was just as trapped in its cycle of work and sleep as she was… but at least it looked _happy_ with its lot in life. Sighing, Kurumi propped her cheek in her palm, and leaned on the counter, ignoring the mousy blond strand of short hair that escaped from her barrettes at the contact. If she could just be as busy as that bee, maybe she wouldn't mind, either.

In the end, it all came down to _purpose_. Unlike the bee with its life's work of gathering nectar and pollen, servicing hive and fellows without thought to any individual goals, the drooping young woman didn't _have_ a reason to exist. Her own parents had only ever been interested in her as a living factory, and with their deaths and her own disappearance, even that flimsy occupation was gone. Her 'rescuers…' Had they really done her a favor by preserving her life? Wouldn't it have been better, to have let the ones she'd thought loved her harvest from her body? What possible use could she be to anyone now? Kurumi folded her arms on the cool, slate counter top, and buried her face, blocking out the view of both empty shop and the mellow, British sunshine slanting down the quiet street outside.

"Miss Kurumi! Miss Kurumi, are you ill?" The excited, high-pitched cry was instantly recognizable, and with a guilty start she jerked her head up and conjured a shaky smile for Michel. Delicate and angelic in shorts and a billowing poet's shirt of white linen, he bounced eagerly into the flower shop, to lay a small hand on her elbow and anxiously peering up with wide blue eyes that were too perceptive for his age. "Miss Kurumi," he repeated. "Is there aught the matter?"

"Oh, no. Nothing." she replied hastily. "I was just resting a little. It's been so slow today, and it's making me sleepy. You're my first customer in over an hour."

Being referred to as a 'customer' brought an enormous grin to the cherubic face, wiping away his concern. "The customer is always right, isn't he, Miss?"

"Oh, I suppose he is, Michel." Puzzled, the young woman let the energetic blond pull her from behind the shop's counter. The strength with which he tugged at her reminded Kurumi of the hazards of taking a puppy for a walk; or more precisely, being taken by _it_, because digging in her heels had no effect at all. They were down the low steps of the shop's stoop and onto the walk in front before she could protest.

"Free! Miss Kurumi's coming to the tea shop with us!" Michel announced, presenting his captive to the older man placidly watering the riotous displays. Straightening to his intimidating height, Free stared down at the nervous girl as he twisted the hose's nozzle. The stream of water diminished to a trickle as he carefully coiled its length against the building's wall.

"Michel!" Helplessly, she wriggled her fingers free of his grasp, then knotted them together herself in front of her stomach. "I can't just leave. I have to watch the shop."

"Of course you can. You said yourself that I was the first customer that you'd had in an hour. You _must_ come, Miss Kurumi. Please say that you will." The quiver of his lower lip, combined with the distress of his pleading gaze, wilted her resolve, and Free found himself the focus of _two_ pairs of shimmering eyes.

Black eyes blinked calmly in turn. "There is no business, therefore, there is no reason to not close early." Turning, one broad hand hefted the chalkboard easel that read 'Kitten in the House' and listed the day's specials, while the other easily gathered up the display. Man and burden disappeared within while Michel gave a crow of delight.

"Ah, you see? I knew that Free would agree." Staggering with a bucket filled with bouquets of yellow and white daisies, the boy hurried in pursuit of his elder brother, surrogate father, mentor… or what ever it was that Free represented. Their relationship made no sense at all, and Kurumi had largely given up trying to force it to. All she knew was that her companions had been gone on one of their secretive missions, and then, one day someone new had stepped into their odd little circle; weary and battered, yet stronger than anyone she'd ever known. Michel had told her bits and snatches of the surreal story; that Free had been the lone survivor of the first of Sir Richard's teams, and that the new group, Side B, had rescued him. That Michel had wanted nothing more than to revenge himself on his mother's and his father's killer, yet in the end, had adopted the giant as his own. All of that had occurred before her own introduction to Richard Krypton's project, but Kurumi doubted it would have made any more sense even if she _had_ been present to witness the events. She knew that they were all assassins, even sweet, out-going little Michel, but simply couldn't bring herself to be frightened of them. In some strange way, just as they had welcomed Free back from the dead and made him one of their number, they had taken her in as well.

Even though she didn't deserve it.

Her thoughts were circling back around to the questions of what use she could possibly be to them, and why, oh why they had bothered to rescue her! when a massive hand descended gently to her shoulder, and Free commanded, "We're done. Fetch your purse."

Kurumi jerked and blushed her way back to the present, and stammered, "Oh! S- so sorry. I didn't help" making him shrug faintly.

"There wasn't much to do. Let's go." He waited patiently on the now bare sidewalk while she dashed inside to find purse and sweater, locking the shop's front door behind her on her return. Michel had already scampered down to the next corner, and was waving wildly for them to _hurry up!_

"Well, still… thank you." Nodding, he fell into step beside her, measuring his longer stride to hers so that the girl wouldn't be forced to run, and absurdly, the courtesy made her bite her lower lip in distress.

"There's something the matter?" Free asked quietly. His voice fell to the sleepy rumble of a lion lazing in the sun, automatically avoiding attention even though the third member of their little party had darted on down to the high street where he stood with hands cupped around his face, peering past the afternoon glare at the display of sweets in the bakery's window.

The sight of the petit blond doing something so ordinary and child-like sent an unexpected pang through the younger woman's chest, and her smile was sad as she murmured, "I'm really useless, aren't I? All of you, you fight so hard to right some of the wrongs that no one else can touch, or sometimes even see. There isn't a single thing I can do to help. And worse, my own parents were horrible people. Maybe it would have been better if you hadn't spared me."

After a long pause, the deep voice intoned, "That's were you're wrong." Someone, most likely the angelic little boy, had persuaded Free to leave off his elegant silks and linens, sandals and sarong, and to dress in ordinary clothing. As if someone with his height, and tattoos could pass as ordinary. But even with the camouflage, the exotic traces of more than one accent in his speech would still attract attention. Thankfully, there was no one close enough to hear, no pedestrians, and the cars whizzing by on the main street didn't slow at the sight of their mismatched pairing.

Still, Kurumi automatically scanned for eavesdroppers and lowered her own voice in turn, "You don't understand. No one here needs me. Perhaps I ought to leave? It's so awkward when everyone has been so kind, when I'm just one of those you should be hunting."

"Miss Kurumi," he demanded, more intense than she'd ever seen him, "Do you truly believe you are guilty?"

"Well… Yes, I guess I do." Her reply was weak, and hesitant. One of Free's rare frowns made him more intimidating than usual, and she hated how nervous she was in response. He'd never hurt her, of that Kurumi was very sure, but his disapproval was almost as bad. "I can't repay your kindness, or do anything to make amends for the bad things my body caused to happen. I can't do surveillance or research like Miss Mihirogi or Yuki. And I'm certainly no good at fighting…" Her voice faded away in confusion as Free's unheard-of, exasperated sigh cut across the words.

"Has Michel ever told you how his parents died?" Her blush was more than enough of an answer, and he continued, fiercely, "Yes, I am responsible for their deaths. That is true. But did he tell you _why_?"

"No…" Which, now that she thought about it, was odd for the talkative child. Normally, _everyone_ knew exactly what the cheerful blond was thinking; he wasn't the sort to keep secrets, or to hold anything back.

"It was an execution. They were terrorists, members of the Irish Republican Army, and they had planned more bombings, and killings. My orders were to leave no witnesses… but instead I took the little boy, and brought him to Sir Richard." The confession was spoken flatly, without emotion, but Kurumi fancied a tinge of self-disgust and horror at the idea that his mission had included the murder of a child. "I spared him because, like you, he had no part in the sins of his parents. He was only a little one, and deserved a chance to live his own life."

"Free…" she protested faintly, "That may be so, but he's more than repaid you; he's now a part of team B. But me, why am I here? I haven't any skills at all." They had reached the excited boy, and he grabbed them each by a hand to tow them toward the entrance of the tea shop, giggling as he rambled on about which of the cakes in the window looked the best. Kurumi glanced up at Free, catching the fleeting expression of tolerant amusement that he gave the oblivious blond.

But he wasn't done with their conversation.

"You're wrong." he repeated stubbornly. "You must stay because you give us a precious gift: the opportunity to be human. And humanity is the most valuable treasure of all."

Stunned, she gaped up at him, as a sudden smile of genuine warmth illuminated his features, tilting the tribal stripes on his cheeks. "Although perhaps Michel would say it is your willingness to indulge his fondness for sweets?" And at the indignant, soprano protest, Kurumi found herself laughing.

Maybe, just maybe… there was something to what Free had said.

It looked as if she'd have to stick around, and find out.


End file.
